


Impasto

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Angst, Art, Artist!Derek, Blind Character, Deaf Character, Deaf Culture, Deafblindness, Fluff, Gallery Showing, Intern!Scott, M/M, OOC, Painting, artist, deafblind character, librarian!Stiles, texture painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ hesitant expression blossomed into a grin which went straight to Derek’s heart, and they climbed beneath the warm blankets, enveloped in each other’s embrace.<br/>‘Want to be my boyfriend?’  Stiles asked once they were settled.<br/>Derek laughed and grabbed Stiles’ hand.  ‘Okay.’<br/>‘Do I get to meet your mother?’</p><p>(Series of one-shots in the same verse)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Anon request on Tumblr: I just read "Not All Monsters" and... wow, love it! Can you write more about deafblindness? I'm a fangirl with the same fandoms that you (Sterek <3 johnlock <3 destiel <3 Ironfrost <3 or hawkeye with anyone HAHUAHUAHAU) so the "central ship" can be anyone, I love all you do, rly. Tks <3
> 
> Okay so I went with Sterek because it was at the top of my list. I could've put more into this, which is why I left it open for a possible sequel. My schedule has been MAD of late and I'm so behind on chapter updates and other things, and I don't know when I'll get round to doing much of it. This was barely beta'd so sorry about that, my own fault really. But I hope this satisfies, even if it's kind of meh.
> 
> Also Derek is ooc, but I'm going based on the person I thought he might turn out to be had his family not died horribly in a fire. I tried to include some actual experience what it's like to be with a deafblind person but again I rushed this a bit so it might be confusing. Also I'm a creative writing teacher so I always write in exact English, not in sign grammar, so just assume they're using sign grammar. Also if I got any ASL signs wrong, that's all on me (and google). Keep the prompts coming, even if they take ages. I want to fanfic them all!
> 
> Oh and I know a tiny bit about art, but not a lot, so I just used whatever info I had floating round my brain. So if I got anything wrong there, too, it's all on me xx

Licking his lips, he tried to push down his nerves. Everything had to be perfect. Needed to be perfect. He’d never done anything like this before. He was used to sharing his gift but not like this. He’d never been confronted the way that kid confronted him and he felt like a colossal ass, but at the same time freer than he had before.

He set the massive canvas along the three easels and had everything ready to go. Whatever Stiles wanted to do, they’d do it.

There was a knock on the side of the door and his head whipped round. He was standing there just as Derek told him to dress. Tattered jeans, throw-away t-shirt he didn’t mind getting paint all over. His hair with the usual product was back just a little bit more than usual. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, his white cane leaning against his other shoulder, his metallic blue hearing aids glinting in the harsh, fluorescent lights of the art room.

It took Derek a second to gather himself before he hurried over and touched Stiles’ arm. Stiles smiled, dragging his hands up his body, palms flat down, middle finger pointed down at his chest. ‘What’s up.’

His eyes, focusing as best they could, locked on Derek’s hands as he took one and Derek signed back at him, ‘Ready to start?’

Stiles grinned and dropped his bag and stick against the door, rubbing his hands together. He fished into his back pocket and pulled out the glasses he almost never wore, or at least the times he’d been visiting Scott, Stiles had them off. Derek asked his intern about it once, and Scott told them Stiles mostly found the blurry world he could see with them on more distracting than helpful when he was navigating round.

Derek could hardly begin to understand how that could be, but he was a man who lived solely by how his eyes took in the world. Touch yes, but growing up a CODA surrounded by both Deaf parents and siblings, and extended family, he’d learnt to perceive the world so much more visually. His mother didn’t bat an eye when he told her he wanted to be an artist, and she had no trouble funding that education for him.

And the school.

Derek brought Stiles to the set-up and let him get oriented. He gave him the run down, where the brushes were, pots of paints which Stiles signed that the colours were clear so no worries. He let him feel along the entirety of the canvas, his fingers running gently over the rough edges, and he mapped out the area where he’d be working.

Derek was still unaccustomed to the whole tactile bit of the signing. Sign had been his first language, and even in his hearing school it had been his primary means of communication with nearly everyone. He tried to bring home a hearing girlfriend once and whilst his mother was welcoming, she wasn’t happy. Everyone knew it, and the relationship crumbled.

With this kid— and really he wasn’t a kid, he was mid-twenties, just a handful of years younger than Derek—it was all touch. All of it. Any time he signed a word there was a hand curled round his reading the subtle nuances. A blind man feeling out the language that was, for all intents and purposes, visual.

It was… well there wasn’t a word for what it was like. Derek was learning and he was growing, and there was this piece of him that was getting dangerously attached to this best friend of his intern and he was making so many excuses now to be around him.

Because it wasn’t learning the way Stiles interpreted the world. It was everything else. He was funny. He was sarcastic and unapologetic. He liked to make able-bodied people feel incredibly uncomfortable and he did it because, as he told Derek one night when he, Derek, and Scott were having beers, people should have to confront their discomforts all the time.

He was also gorgeous. With these amazing, wide brown eyes and long lashes and beauty marks speckled across his face. And he was tall and lithe and fit and when he touched Derek, it was warm and comforting. And there was so damn much touching.

Scott wasn’t thrilled with it. Scott, in spite of being Stiles’ best friend, had the misfortune of coming from a hearing family and sighted family and never experienced anything outside of Stiles. So without the real perspective of living in that world, he treated Stiles like he was not quite there. Not quite able to live his own life. He saw differences as limitations and so when Derek moved in, Scott wasn’t thrilled about it.

But Stiles was having this art class. He brought it up. He wanted to experience painting. His myopia was so severe, even with his coke-bottle glasses he couldn’t make out much more than colourful blurs, but Derek could work with that. So many gorgeous pieces displayed in museums across the globe were nothing more than colourful blurs.

Stiles himself was a bit of one.

But there was a pressure on Derek now. To make this experience worthy of Stiles. To show him he was capable of being part of every world, including visual art, and if one thing went wrong, Stiles would feel shut out. Scott explained it had happened before, and Derek was a little terrified now. He could teach art, but he wasn’t sure he was any good at it. Not really.

‘So what now?’

The signs startled Derek out of his head, and he quickly slipped his hand under Stiles’. He kept his signs short, fingerspelling words that required more facial expression or head movement, but otherwise it was mostly the same as conversing with anyone. ‘Choose your background colour. Then we paint the canvas. Tomorrow we add accenting colour.’

Stiles pulled away and put his face an inch above the pots of paint. He sniffed, dipped his fingers into a few, and eventually selected black. ‘More fun to contrast.’

Derek didn’t need Stiles to explain. ‘Your work, your artistic vision,’ he said, spelling out the word artistic. ‘Your choices.’

Stiles grinned a little wickedly. ‘My choices. I like that.’

Derek handed him a brush, guided the first few strokes, then let him loose. He watched. He stood back and watched as Stiles used the brush to paint with one hand and the other to guide him across the canvas. On and on he painted. Black stroke after black stroke until the entire piece was covered. 

As was Stiles, a bit. Hands covered in mucky paint and it had smeared on his neck a bit, and up near his hairline. But it was done, and it just needed to dry and they could work more tomorrow. He was hungry besides, and it was late.

He squeezed Stiles’ shoulder, their sign that Derek would be back in a moment, and he returned with some wet paint flannels to clean him up. Stiles grinned and laughed a little as Derek wiped his neck and face, and then Derek too him to the sink to clean up his hands.

‘Are other students this messy?’

Derek laughed a little and nodded his fist under Stiles’. ‘Worse. You did well.’

‘Because I’m an artistic genius,’ Stiles said, spelling out the last two words into the air with a pointed sort of arrogance which Derek was coming to love about him. ‘Can we work with our hands? Add texture? Fingerpaint?’

Derek was a bit surprised, Stiles was meticulous about being clean, but he quickly slipped his hand under Stiles’. ‘Yes. I have plenty.’

*** 

Scott was all frowns and sighs during dinner, and he barely said goodbye to Derek when the three parted ways. Derek, whose loft was directly across from the school, leant on the wall to his building and watched Scott and Stiles go. He stood there til they were round the corner, then he went up.

The next day was round two. Derek got to the school early to make sure the canvas had dried, which it had. He had a few products in his stores which he could add to some of the paints giving it texture and thickness that would stand out. He’d done a few impasto paintings himself, mostly trees and the like.

He took one out of the storage cupboard, a large piece of an Aspen forest he’d done after travelling to one. The trees were stark white on a deep navy background. Stars speckled the sky in white impasto paint, and the trunks and leaves were textured. The flat was the path through the trees, but it was perfect for Stiles to see.

He set it out and waited for Stiles to arrive. Which he did, fifteen minutes late. Derek let him get set up, then quickly took his hand. ‘I have something to show you. A piece of my art.’

Stiles’ eyebrows went up. ‘Is it a nude?’

Derek flushed. ‘It’s trees.’

Stiles chuckled a little at Derek’s apparent discomfort, and let himself be drawn to the window where Derek set the painting up. Stiles put on his glasses and leant forward toward it. ‘You did this? Describe it.’

Derek did his best with signs and spelling. ‘Aspen forest, white trunks, yellow leaves, navy background with stars. A dark brown path cutting through the centre. You can touch it. It’s textured.’

Stiles glowed at that last bit, and he carefully reached out, just the tips of his fingers at first, and brought them to the canvas. He stood so close his nose was almost touching it, and his fingers roamed. Up and down the textured trunks, over the lumpy leaves, across the beaded stars and splayed along the brown path. He laughed a little again and turned back to Derek.

‘It’s beautiful. So beautiful.’

Derek felt his whole face go red, and he let out a start when Stiles’ fingers collided with his cheeks.

Stiles laughed again and pulled back to sign, ‘Blushing. I knew you were blushing.’

Derek shoved him away, a playful shove, which made Stiles laugh more, and when he took Derek’s hand, it was just to squeeze it. Derek tried to ignore the rushing in his limbs, the sudden urge to grab Stiles and kiss him. But he wouldn’t cross that line. Not unless he damn well knew Stiles wanted him back.

Instead they went back to the canvas and Derek showed him how to mix everything together to create texture. Then it was all hands on canvas. Stiles got into it, more than Derek had ever seen a first time painter. His entire being went into creating. He used metallic silvers and golds and whites and reds. All contrasting to the fierce black of the canvas. And Stiles was covered to the elbow with paints, but he was creating a design as beautiful as he was, and Derek was fascinated.

He watched until Stiles insisted he help, and when he hesitated, Stiles grabbed him, paint everywhere, and dragged him over.

Together they dipped fingers in and drew lines and circles and splotches and patterns until the entire canvas was covered. 

When they had finished for the day, Stiles reached out and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. Derek looked at him, covered nearly head to toe in paint, and he started to laugh. Feeling the movement, Stiles’ eyes went wide and with one hand he signed, ‘Laughing?’

For some reason, Derek couldn’t stop. Stiles’ hand travelled over his shoulder, to his neck where he felt the vibrations of Derek’s deep belly laugh, and then he joined in. They were painted and laughing and Derek felt a sort of bliss he hadn’t felt in well… ever.

‘Come to mine? To wash?’

Stiles pulled back, swiping at his tears of mirth with the back of his hand. ‘To yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Hands so stick, I can barely understand,’ and he laughed again.

Stiles took his stick, unmindful of the colourful handprints it left on the grip, and together they went down the stairs and across the street to Derek’s loft. He led the way in, careful in case there were any stray objects on the floor, but Derek was also meticulously clean and they made it to the bathroom to wash without incident.

Derek turned on the sink and fetched a few clean towels since it was a massive mess, and his soap which he swore by to remove the heaviest of paint smears on skin. Pouring some on Stiles’ open palm, Stiles leant down and sniffed it, making a happy sound in the back of his throat as he began to rub it on.

It was citrus, with tiny beads of ground shell to exfoliate, and the pair washed up, surrounded by the comforting smells and each other, until they were mostly clean.

Stiles turned to Derek for inspection, and Derek found a few smudges on his face Stiles had missed. ‘May I?’ He touched the spots with the tip of his finger, and Stiles nodded his fist.

Dipping the corner of the towel in the water, then the soap, Derek began to gently remove the offending splotches until the skin was clean and shining under the bathroom light. He hesitated to draw away, and Stiles leant into Derek’s hand. His eyes fluttered closed, his hands drawing up slowly, as though giving Derek time to pull away, and they travelled up his arms, resting on either side in the crook between his neck and shoulders. 

Derek’s whole body went flush, then he shivered as his fingers continued to rub along the now-clean areas on the side of Stiles’ face. 

Stiles lifted one hand to sign, ‘I like you.’ His hand stilled, waiting for a response.

Derek almost took too long. Stiles face started to fall, and Derek hurried to grab those fingers and shaking too much to sign properly, he spelled out, ‘I like you. A lot.’

Stiles’ eyes still closed, brow furrowed as he read the letters and put them together, stopped worrying. His expression went still and then the corners of his mouth turned up. Derek’s followed, and then Stiles touched Derek’s mouth on the corners.

‘I’m smiling,’ Derek signed to confirm.

‘I see,’ Stiles signed back and then laughed. ‘Kiss me?’

Derek licked his lips and went in for it. Their mouths met, Stiles’ hands still on the side of Derek’s face as their tongues met and they backed up a few paces until Stiles was pressed against the wall. Derek’s hands came up on either side of Stiles’ face, pressed to the plaster as their bodies began to press together. Stiles shifted, hard against Derek, and he felt the pressing, growing hardness in Stiles’ jeans. He moaned, which Stiles felt under his fingers, and he grinned against Derek’s mouth.

It would have gone further, but Derek heard the loft door bang open and footsteps coming down the hall. Then a harsh voice. “Stiles!”

Derek ripped himself back, and had the good sense to sign Scott’s sign name under Stiles’ hand before the dark-haired intern’s red, angry face popped in the doorway. “Where the hell have you two been?” Scott said, signing it angrily as he yanked Stiles toward him. “I was worried.”

Derek felt annoyed that Scott had taken up all of Stiles’ signing space, forcing himself to speak so Scott could interpret. “We were washing up. We got paint on everything.”

“I thought something happened to you,” Scott said, but Derek knew he was mostly talking to Stiles now. “Your pack is still in the studio.”

Stiles shoved Scott away. ‘I’m fine. We weren’t done.’

Scott looked between them, noticed the flush in their cheeks, the swollen lips, and his eyes widened in realisation. He signed something quick and impossible to follow into Stiles’ hand, and although Stiles tried to protest, Scott insisted until Stiles followed him out.

Derek started to come after, but Stiles turned. ‘Later.’

Then they were gone.

*** 

Two days passed and not a word from Scott or Stiles. Derek couldn’t figure out what he could have done. Sure, he knew why Scott was upset, but Stiles? He wouldn’t have done it if he wasn’t completely sure Stiles wanted him. What had he done wrong?

Tired of waiting round, he went to the bar where Scott worked his second job and found him smoking a cigarette out back. When Scott saw him, he tried to leave, but Derek grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him into one of the tattered lawn chairs.

“Why hasn’t he been back?”

Scott’s eyes were narrow and angry. “Look dude, just because you think it’s cool to teach a blind kid art doesn’t mean you can take advantage of him.”

Derek’s eyes flared wide and angry, and he restrained himself from punching Scott right then and there. “Is that what you think I did?”

“Isn’t it?”

Derek took a breath, calming himself. “I think the only one who thinks the world is going to use him, Scott, is you. You have a token friend, the quirky one with the disability who gets you attention and questions from the world. You don’t see him as a person first. You see his inabilities, his abilities, and then him.”

“Oh?” Scott challenged, getting up from his chair. “You do realise I’ve been around him his entire life, right?”

Derek laughed. “I do. And that’s what makes it so damn terrible.”

Scott’s cheeks went pink. “So how do you see him, then? Go on?”

Derek took another breath and looked up at the sky. “The first thing I noticed was his laugh. Like he had an inside joke about everything. And his smile. How the absolute smallest things could bring him that bit of joy we’ve all sort of lost in the hustle and bustle in the world. Then came the cutting edges. The ones which tell you when you’re being a colossal ass, and I hope he’s said as much to you if you even considered telling him I’m using him.”

Scott’s face was falling. “What else?”

“His sarcasm. His humour. I’ve never laughed harder at anyone’s jokes. And he’s a spazz which is goddamn annoying but at the same time it endeared me to him more than anything. The way he tackled that canvas with a passion I haven’t seen on many artists. Not even you. I like that his signs are different, almost like an accent like you can understand them but they’re not totally familiar. I like that he tries everything because most people are too terrified to think outside their tiny boxes. And he’s gorgeous. And I think my mother will like him and she hasn’t liked a single person I’ve brought home before.”

Scott sat down, lighting another cigarette, and took a long drag. “So you like him like him.”

Derek laughed and ran his hands though his hair. “No. I don’t just like him like him. It’s more than that.”

“You should probably tell him.”

*** 

Derek didn’t find out what Scott told Stiles to keep him away, but he did tell Derek where to find him. The library where he worked in archiving. He was in an office, and outside was a buzzer he had to press which would vibrate on Stiles’ phone and let him know someone was there.

Derek pressed it, and then stepped inside.

The office was small, a desk, computer, some gadgets he’d never seen before, a scanner and a tonne of books sitting in the corner. Stiles was behind the desk, his glasses on, staring up expectantly at the intruder. Derek knew this far away he was nothing but a blob of dark colours.

He approached the desk and took Stiles’ hand, spelling his name. ‘Sorry to intrude.’

Stiles looked vaguely surprised, but beckoned Derek to sit down near him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I saw Scott.’ At this, Stiles’ eyes got dark behind the thick lenses, and Derek continued. ‘He told me why he was angry.’

‘He’s an ass.’

‘What did he tell you?’

Stiles sat back, still for a moment, then he raised his hands to answer. ‘You used me. Fetish.’ He spelled the last word. ‘Said to leave you. If I was right, you would find me.’

Derek felt his face got hot and his anger at Scott rise again, but he stamped it down. Instead he reached over to take Stiles’ hand. ‘Want to see your painting?’

He had a few things to get sorted, then he was finished and took his white cane from a hook by the door. Derek stopped him when he saw the thick, dried gobs of paint on the grip. ‘I have paint remover.’

Stiles frowned, then laughed when he realised what Derek was saying. ‘I like it. Every time I touch it I remember. That was fun.’

They walked together, Stiles’ arm on Derek’s, his stick in front of him guiding him round any foreign objects and they took the long way back to the school at Stiles’ insistence so they could get a coffee first. Derek ordered for the both of them at Stiles’ request, and then they made it to the school.

It was late now, dark and there was the smell of rain on the air which invigorated Derek a bit as they took the stairs up to the classroom where the painting was still sitting on display. A few students had come by to admire the work. It really was something truly remarkable. It was stark in contrast, huge, and the texture was nothing like Derek had ever seen or done. Every compliment the painting received fuelled Derek more and more to get Stiles back in the studio because the kid really had something special.

He turned up the lights as Stiles got his strongest pair of glasses on, and put his stick and backpack by the door where he always did. He then went forward without Derek’s arm, having learn the room by now. Turning toward Derek, he asked, ‘Can I touch it?’

Derek strolled over and nodded his fist under Stiles’. ‘It’s dry.’

He stood back and watched as Stiles examined every bit of the canvas. He touched and smelled and kept his face so close occasionally his nose brushed along the lumps. And when he was done, he pulled back and turned to Derek, his eyes a bit wide and watery.

‘It’s fantastic, isn’t it?’

Derek gulped. He wanted to say yes, it was, but it was more than that. It was something else, and there weren’t words or signs for it. So eventually he just signed ‘Yes,’ and left it at that.

A bit later, Stiles asked to go back to Derek’s, this time with the promise whatever they got up to wouldn’t be interrupted, so they did. Derek led the way and this time showed Stiles to the couch where he could sit comfortably. They still had their coffees, though they were a bit cold now, but that was okay. Stiles sipped his anyway as he turned to face Derek.

The loft, as bright as Derek could make it, was still pretty dim, and he took extra care with his signs. ‘You want to keep painting?’

Stiles’ eyebrows went up. ‘Think I should?’

Derek’s mouth quirked, then he nodded his fist. ‘Your work is… different. Unique. I think the world needs it.’

Stiles’ cheeks pinked with pleasure. ‘Okay then.’ There was a pause between them before he asked, ‘Do you like me?’

Derek blinked rapidly in surprise. ‘Yes. I told you.’

‘Scott said…’

Derek’s fingers pinched under Stiles’, harsh and persistent. ‘No. Scott is a fool. He has no idea who you are.’

Stiles’ mouth quirked. ‘Who am I?’ When Derek didn’t answer, he tried another question. ‘What about me do you like?’

Derek’s fingers faltered a little, but he tried. ‘There’s something about you most people don’t have. It’s like you contain an entire universe in your body and I… want to be part of it.’

Stiles’ cheeks went full flush and he leant forward, getting very close to Derek. ‘So it’s not just my ripped abs?’

Derek laughed loudly, and to share this with Stiles’, he pressed Stiles’ hand to the side of his throat. With a grin, Stiles shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if to say, So? ‘Those are a bonus.’

Stiles leant forward and pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek. ‘Can you teach me to say your name?’

Derek was a bit taken aback by that. He’d never heard Stiles say a word and assumed he was totally non-verbal. He was used to that, he had only one sister who ever learnt, and though his mother could, she never did. ‘Can you… do you… speak? At all?’

‘A few words,’ Stiles signed. He cleared his throat and said, “Fuck off, Scott.” It wasn’t very clear at all, but it was understandable, and they both laughed. “Get out of my chair. Stop touching my stuff.”

Derek got it. They were phrases Stiles had been taught when he and Scott were younger. Nothing very phonetic, but Stiles worked in the archives which meant he had a grasp on exact English and written grammar so he could probably figure it out. Still, it would be different.

His baby sister Cora wanted to speak. She had hearing friends and she was full of Deaf Pride but at the same time she wanted what Derek had—to be bilingual, part of both worlds when she wanted to be. And Talia forbade her daughter from going to speech therapy, insisted she didn’t need it, the world would adapt to her, not the other way round. So Derek taught her in secret.

When Talia found out she was beyond furious, but Cora had a point. Derek was bilingual, there was nothing shameful about her learning it, either. Eventually his mother gave in but she always resented it, just under the surface, any time she saw Cora and Derek using English.

But Cora had followed his mouth. Watched him intently, the shape of his lips, movement of the cheeks, teeth, and tongue. He didn’t have that advantage here.

Before he had to ask though, how to even begin to start, Stiles moved even closer. He reached out slowly, careful with his hands, drew them up Derek’s arms and toward his face. One hand curled round the side of his jaw, near to his throat. The other went further up, cupping the upper part of his jaw, his thumb touching the side of his mouth.

No idea where to really start, he just said his name. Careful enunciation and making sure to use a lot of air. “Derek. Derek.”

Stiles pulled one hand away and spelled the name into the air. ‘D-E-R-E-K. D-“ and he put his hand in front of Derek’s mouth, nodding.

Derek made the D sound, loud and hard so the air hit his hand.

Stiles mimicked it. They did the same for the K. Then Derek continued to say his name and Stiles began to attempt it. It wasn’t half bad. It was better than Cora had done on her first ever lesson and Derek grinned, giving Stiles’ hand a quick nuzzle to show he was getting it.

Stiles smiled and drew both hands to Derek’s face, thumbs touching his mouth. “Now. Mine.”

Derek blinked, then realised what Stiles was asking. “Stiles.”

Stiles’ smile widened and he nodded for Derek to do it again. Then again and again and again.

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles Stiles Stiles oh god Stiles,” and then Stiles’ face leant forward and they were kissing just like before. Lips, teeth, and tongue, and Stiles was still holding his face, his fingers tightly pressed against Derek’s flushed skin.

Derek’s hands moved to Stiles’ waist, pulling him closer until he was nearly on top of him. Stiles did the rest, straddling Derek’s legs, knees bent, and he was hovering over him, devouring his mouth like a starved man. Running his hands up Stiles’ back, he slipped his fingers under the shirt and felt Stiles’ hot skin underneath.

Derek let out a moan, and having felt it, Stiles grinned against Derek’s mouth.

Derek realised at this moment it would be different. No visual cues, no verbal ones. They could sign but most of the time it looked like their hands would be otherwise occupied so Derek would have to hone in to make sure Stiles was happy.

He thought it would be awkward. Difficult. Possibly a little frightening.

Instead it felt perfect. Like he belonged there the entire time.

They began to heat up, Stiles’ exploratory fingers darting this way and that under Derek’s clothes and toying with the zip on his jeans. Derek beckoned them along to the bedroom, pulling away to sign the one word which Stiles responded with an enthusiastic yes.

Stiles was able to sign, ‘Condom?’ as they moved into the room, and Derek signed his own enthusiastic answer because he did have some, and lube at the ready in the drawer beside the bed. He took them out and they fell down on the covers, mouths grasping at each other’s as Stiles continued to explore.

Down and down he went, breaking the kiss, leaving a hot trail as he made his way over Derek’s chest. He paused and his fingers took time to admire Derek’s well formed abs, but he didn’t linger over the button and zip on the jeans. They were off in seconds and the offending clothing was tossed to the floor. All that stood between Derek’s cock and Stiles’ mouth was thin fabric of pants, and those didn’t last long either.

Then Stiles swallowed him, almost to the balls, and Derek lifted up off the bed, crying out. Stiles was grinning and making signs Derek couldn’t read from that angle, but Stiles didn’t seem to care. He just continued to suck him, his fingers touching his balls, travelling down to the puckered hole where he tested it with just a bit of pressure.

And Derek was too close and he didn’t want it to be over just yet. Not quite yet. So he tapped Stiles who popped off and made his way back up.

‘You like?’

‘Want you,’ Derek signed back.

‘Top or bottom?’

Derek worried his bottom lip between his teeth, then signed, ‘Your choice. Always your choice.’

Stiles thought a moment, then smiled and pointed to himself and signed, ‘Bottom.’

Derek’s throbbing dick throbbed even harder at the thought, and he had to breathe to contain himself as he carefully removed a condom from the box. Stiles took that as Derek uncapped the lube, and as he greased up his fingers, Stiles slipped the condom on Derek’s waiting cock. Then he turned, knees bent, ass up in the air.

Wanting to take his time, to do this right, Derek began to massage Stiles’s ass cheeks, then carefully drew his finger up and down the crack. Stiles gave a whimper, moving his hips up for better purchase, and Derek took that as a good sign. He slipped one finger in and began careful exploration. It was tight. So damn tight, and he almost gave up and slipped in, but stopped himself just in time.

He added a second finger, pushing them open and closed as he searched for that spot, looking until he felt it, and as he bumped it with the tip of his middle finger, Stiles cried out, bucking hard against the pillow beneath him.

He made a sign which looked like, ‘Now,’ against the bed, and Derek grinned as he positioned himself up, cock pressing against the hole, and with impossibly slow strokes, he went in. Just a bit at first, in and out, then a little more, and a little more.

Stiles was positively growling, trying to force his hips back and Derek knew he could go hard and fast, giving Stiles what he wanted, and so he did. In and out, rapid and harsh and pounding against that spot to make Stiles cry out.

Derek almost came on the spot when he saw Stiles’ talented, long fingers wrap round his own dick and tug it until it spurted white all over the cover beneath him. In fact, he only lasted a few more thrusts before he was coming hard and shivering, bent over Stiles’ back.

When it was over, he slipped out, removed the condom, and tied it off, throwing it into the bin by the bedside table. It was chilly now that their heat was dying down, and though Stiles seemed a bit hesitant, Derek pulled back the covers.

‘Stay the night?’

Stiles’ hesitant expression blossomed into a grin which went straight to Derek’s heart, and they climbed beneath the warm blankets, enveloped in each other’s embrace.

‘Want to be my boyfriend?’ Stiles signed once they were settled.

Derek laughed and grabbed Stiles’ hand. ‘Okay.’

‘Do I get to meet your mother?’

Derek smiled and kissed Stiles all over his face. ‘Yes. Soon.’

Stiles nuzzled Derek’s neck before pulling back. ‘You think she’s going to like me?’

Taking Stiles’ hand, Derek pressed it to his cheek and nodded. ‘She’s going to love you. What about your dad?’

Stiles grinned wickedly as he signed, ‘Good for nothing artist? He’s going to hate you.’


	2. Stiles Friendly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to make this week the week of sequels. I've been promising a few and right now I've hit a wall with my Merlin fic so whilst I work that all out, I'll drabble some follow-ups to some of the fics you amazing, glorious, wonderful readers have asked for. And if there's anything you might want to see just put it in the comments or on tumblr (lala-lady-elena)
> 
> I've also decided on this particular fic I'll add any sequels to the story itself instead of making a new entry since it's easier to follow this way. I'll be sure to change tags as appropriate. Thank you all! xx

It was when Stiles first tripped over a stack of unopened, pre-stretched canvas that Derek realised his neat space wasn’t so neat at all. Not that he was a messy guy, no. But having never considered someone with a visual impairment might be banging round his place, he never thought to tuck in corners and edges. He never thought where he might bang his shoes at the end of the day could be hazardous. Or that things in the fridge and cabinets should have a very specific place.

He just never thought til he was icing Stiles’ bruised knee on the couch that maybe he ought to try and work things out for Stiles’ benefit. Especially since he most definitely wanted Stiles over more often than not.

‘I had a thought.’

‘Did it hurt?’

Derek smacked his boyfriend on the shoulder, then grabbed his hand to sign, ‘Can you help me organise so you can walk through my kitchen without breaking your neck.’

‘I only tried to break my neck,’ Stiles signed back with a smirk, then reached out, touched the corner of Derek’s lips with his thumb, and leant in to kiss him. ‘But yes. I can.’

And thus began the great project of making his loft Stiles friendly. The good news for Derek is he already was fairly neat, so it was just a matter of putting things which had crept from his at-home studio into the kitchen and living room back in their place, and making sure Stiles had a good view of everything in the spaces he would occupy. Which Derek hoped would be everywhere.

‘You’ve got giant windows and no light,’ Stiles complained once they had the studio put together. The studio itself was wonderfully bright. Huge windows, a lot of high lamps hanging from the ceiling because even for a person who was sighted, artists needed a specific environment. Or well at least Derek did. So that space was safest for Stiles.

It helped he had some vision. Enough to get by when things were bright and heavily contrasted. But the living area and Derek’s bedroom were absolutely terrible. Stiles strolled over to the living room windows, found the curtains, and tugged.

“This,” he said aloud as Derek was across the room. “No.”

Stiles almost never spoke. He’d been born Deaf and was never verbal. It was only through Scott he learnt all the dirty words and a handful of others in English. Which, in bed, Derek appreciated because bringing Stiles to that babbling marriage of broken speech and sign was one of his most favourite things to do.

With a sigh, Derek crossed the room and reached out to squeeze Stiles’ shoulder, then took his hand. ‘So you want the neighbours to see our hot, filthy fucking?’

Stiles smirked and pulled away. ‘Hey it’s a good show.’

Derek’s cheeks went red and he pinched his thumb to his first and middle fingers. ‘No. But compromise? Different colour?’

Stiles held the curtain fabric up to his nose and sighed. ‘Black. You’re so emo.’

Derek compromised on cream, although it was his least favourite and it clashed with nearly everything hanging on his walls. But after a trip to the store and the new curtains hanging in both the living room and the bedroom, he saw the stark difference. Stiles even showed him how much better it was by walking round in the space without his white cane. He only tripped over the edge of the sofa a little bit, and he grinned when Derek tried to apologise.

‘I do that at my own home and I’ve lived there since I was born.’

Derek sighed, then kissed him. ‘Fine. Let’s get to the kitchen and then…’

‘Hot, filthy sex for voyeuristic neighbours?’ Stiles spelt out the word voyeuristic with very slow fingers and a tongue running across his lower lip.

Derek flushed and felt his jeans go a bit tight, and he sighed. ‘You’re insatiable.’

‘And you love it.’ Then Stiles was off ahead of him to tear apart the cabinets and put them back together in a Stiles friendly way.

Being that the task took hours, by the time they were finished both of them seemed more ready for pizza, beer, and bed than they were ready for sex. Which was also fine because Derek didn’t mind that part, either.

Stiles had spent a few nights now over at Derek’s, and they started off the nights curled round each other, and in the mornings woke with Derek’s hand cupped inside Stiles’ palm as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly it felt like it.

Mornings were easy. Stiles had his hearing aids out and glasses off so everything between them was a hundred percent tactile. Not even proper signs, just clipped shorthand spelling in each other’s palms and there was a quiet beauty about the whole thing. Something soothing Derek had never experienced before.

Normally, with Stiles there, Derek slept well. Better than he ever had. Only this time he woke sometime in the night. It was pitch black out, and the only light coming from the hallway which he’d forgotten to switch off before they retired. It wasn’t Stiles that woke him, nor was it stress or anxiety. He’d woke with a vision he wanted on canvas and though this didn’t happen a lot, when it did, Derek never let it pass by.

Slipping from the bed, Derek padded across the floor and then down the hall into the studio. He left the door partly open, turned up all the lights, then after remembering Stiles had his ears off, turned his music all the way up. There was something about letting the sounds of music encompass him as he put paint to canvas that brought him to a higher level when he painted. Never the belief he was better than any other artist, but he was a better him when he did it.

The image he had was a shadow. A silhouette in the distance surrounded by a bright, all-encompassing light. The figure was himself and the light was Stiles. It only took a second for him to decide on impasto, so Stiles could see it.

He had a white painted canvas already, so he used that. It took just a handful of minutes to pencil sketch everything out, and then he mixed his paints and impasto and began. His feet tapped to the beat, his body swaying, his head moving. Occasionally he’d make a few brush strokes with his eyes closed. He used a palette knife to create the figure in the distance, and some pallet knife strokes of grey to shade in the light surrounding the blackness.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, or how long he’d been standing. He was unaware how much time he spent painting vs staring at the canvas trying to see his vision come to light. All that mattered was his art and he was inside it. Where he belonged.

He was nearly done when he heard a snicker, and he turned to see Stiles in the doorway. Startled, Derek nearly dropped his brush, then tossed it into his bucket of water before crossing the room. He was covered in paint, splotches all over his hands and arms, but Stiles never minded.

He touched his boyfriend on the shoulder and Stiles smiled at him. ‘Were you dancing?’

Derek’s eyebrows went up. Was he? Probably, he never paid attention to what he was doing during his painting time. ‘Yes. I think so.’

Stiles laughed aloud and walked into the room. His feet slid across the floor until they came into contact with Derek’s tarp, and he stepped over it, then approached the canvas with Derek close at his heels. ‘What are you listening to?’

Derek had to pause, as the music had just become noise in the background. Just beats and sounds. He focused on the voice and then took Stiles’ hand. ‘Styx.’

Stiles’ eyebrows went up and he signed, ‘Come sail away with me.’ He made the signs sing-song-y and wide, and Derek laughed a little, a reminder of when his sisters liked to do sign videos to techno-crap Derek couldn’t stand but they loved.

Stiles leant down, nose almost touching the canvas. ‘Impasto?’

Derek nodded his fist in Stiles’ hand. ‘Should be dry tomorrow.’

Stiles stood up and turned, his arms coming round Derek’s waist. It meant no talking, but a lot of kissing which Derek could live with. He could forego those last few brush strokes until tomorrow in favour of this. This hot breath mixing with his, and hands roaming up his back. Fingers drawing lazy circles across his skin as he carefully backed Stiles up out of the room, down the hall, and back into the bedroom.

His mind wasn’t on painting now that he had Stiles under him, breathing heavy into his mouth as Derek’s hands ran up and down the centre of Stiles’ chest. His fingers paused to pinch the taut nipples and he grinned into Stiles’ mouth when he heard his lover gasp and moan.

It wasn’t long until it was clothes off and he had two fingers inside Stiles. He particularly enjoyed the way Stiles would rock his head back, eyes wide open, mouth parted, breath coming in gasps. The broken way he’d whisper, “Derek,” over and over as Derek pushed inside deeper and deeper.

Then it was his turn because Stiles also liked to top and Derek absolutely loved to bottom when it came to Stiles. And he was prepped and ready, then Stiles was on him. He was on his knees, Stiles wrapped round him from the back. One hand held fast to Derek’s shoulder to help keep the furious pace Stiles liked, and the other was pressed to the side of Derek’s face near his mouth. Stiles fingers could feel the vibrations when Derek moaned, feel the breath hitting them as he gasped. His palm felt when Derek’s face got hot with impending orgasm. He could feel Derek’s mouth part as he let out a cry and came all over the sheets beneath them.

Stiles rolled off and laughed at Derek’s boneless inability to rise off the bed to clean them up. So Stiles fetched towels for them and mopped everything up. They shifted the sheets over and laid on naked mattress with the heavy duvet over them, and Stiles let out a happy hum.

Glancing at the clock, Derek saw it was a few hours from dawn, which would be enough time to get rest and be ready for classes in the morning. He nuzzled down, his nose in Stiles’ hair, and he let out a contented sigh. He thought it would be complicated. It had to be. He never thought life could feel this normal, and yet his life before meeting Stiles now felt like it was the complicated, confusing one.

A hand slipped into his, and Derek had to concentrate on the letters to see what Stiles was saying. The spelling was agonisingly slow, but after a second he caught on. ‘Dinner tomorrow with my dad. Wants to meet you. Hope you’re ready. Big step’

Derek let out a groan and kissed Stiles again, but he had a secret smile because yeah… oh yeah. He was ready.


	3. Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little one-shot. Not as fluffy as the last, but I have some adorableness planned for the boys. Also I'm devastated by Tyler Hoechlin not being a Teen Wolf regular. I might have to give up on the show and go strictly fandom. I'm heart broken. My feels. :(

Derek blamed Scott for this. For talking him into hosting painting parties. Oh it wasn’t the twenty-something ladies with their BYOB wine and cheese platters that bothered him. Even if teaching the classes meant all ten of them getting drunk and attempting to create some trite work of art you’d see on the shelves of WalMart in six different colour schemes. No they were fine. Even amongst their need to ask Derek to repeat several of the steps because they were too busy gossiping about their latest conquests of the world.

No, it was the birthday parties. As he crossed the street, covered in sticky paint and sticky other… things… he considered firing Scott. Then rehiring him. Just to fire him again. Then he’d rehire him again because he still needed an assistant teacher but Jesus Christ in Heaven and all the Heavenly Hosts and all their fucking friends but the two hour painting birthday party was just the absolute worst. The screaming and the throwing and the sticky sweets, and having to repeatedly remove children from his once-locked cabinets that held all his expensive important stuff only because they had tiny fingers and were like little mini-safe-cracking-spies or something.

And their parents by god did they ever pay attention? Ever? Like when one child used the other as a stepping stool to rip one of Derek’s more impressive works of art off the wall and it was by a hair he managed to save it from goopy hands. The mothers of the two boys just gave Derek a nonchalant shrug like, “Oh kids will be kids.”

It took everything in him to scream, “Yes but they will be kids and they will behave if you pay them one fucking ounce of attention.”

Not that Derek was a great judge on how to parent because lord knows he didn’t have nor did he want kids ever. Especially after today. Not after that.

He smelled funny too, now. Like a mixture of cupcakes and dirt, and he was pretty sure they’d gotten some sort of syrupy stuff in his hair which was sure to take ages to wash out. Stiles was supposed to be over as well. One of the most complicated parts of dating Stiles was communication when they weren’t in person. Stiles didn’t have a mobile, as they had yet to perfect any sort of technology in which the deafblind could use one. But he had email so whilst he was at work Derek could send a few of those.

So far the plan was Stiles come over an hour after Derek was done with the painting party. Stiles said he had a surprise for Derek and at the time Derek hoped it was the sexy sort, but now he was hoping it was maybe some take away and a long, long sleep.

Walking through the door to his loft, he paused. An unfamiliar smell hit his nose, then he heard sounds in the kitchen. Turning the corner, he saw Stiles at the counter chopping up some veg with precise motions. There was a pan sizzling over a low flame, and the smell was quite fantastic, if the scene wasn’t also a surprise.

Derek crossed the room and squeezed Stiles’ right shoulder by way of greeting. Stiles grinned up at Derek, lifting his face for a kiss before freeing one of his hands to sign, ‘Hi.’

Derek took it in his. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Surprise!’ Stiles signed, his face lighting up a little. ‘My dad’s coming to dinner.’

Derek’s eyes went wide and he suddenly felt his gut squirming with nerves. He knew the Sheriff by proxy of his mother, and once before he was Sheriff and Derek had gotten into a spot of trouble as a teen. Nothing major, of course, just rebellious nonsense his mom talked the officers into letting Derek out of. With just a warning.

Derek could only hope the Sheriff didn’t remember that bit. But he was also holy terrified because Stiles was extremely close with his dad, especially after his mother died. Stiles said his dad was over-protective and definitely going to scrutinise everything Derek did.

‘We’re having dinner here? Here? At…at…’ Derek’s hand stilled a moment, then signed, ‘at mine?’

Stiles huffed a laugh through his nose and turned to Derek. He brought his hands up, cupping Derek’s cheeks and ran his thumbs over the scruff building up over a few days of no shaving. He found the corner of Derek’s mouth with this thumb, leant up to kiss him, then pressed his forehead against Derek’s and let out a breath. “You be fine,” he said aloud. “Promise.”

Derek knew Stiles using his voice meant serious business, so he tried to relax. I mean, how bad could it be, right?

‘Shower,’ Stiles signed after he stepped away. ‘What is that smell?’

Derek groaned and rubbed his face before taking Stiles’ hand again. ‘Long story, tell you later. Shower first.’

Stiles gave a happy hum and went back to chopping up dinner whilst Derek headed down to the shower. He made it extra long. It took over twenty minutes until he was sure all the goo was gone and the smell was faded behind some of the clean-smelling liquid soap which removed both paint and god-knows-what and left him feeling refreshed.

He went straight to the bedroom, rummaging round his wardrobe for the perfect thing to wear. Which was difficult. Half his things were covered in splatters of paint, the other half he felt were a bit too formal, although how formal should you be in meeting the parents?

Meeting the parents. At his. At his home, in his loft, where Stiles’ dad could judge everything they did and although Stiles had helped him make the place Stiles-friendly, what if it wasn’t up to scratch? What if there were things he missed?

How much influence did the Sheriff have over Stiles anyway? If he didn’t like Derek? If he assumed what Scott had when they first met?

Derek was almost never this self-conscious. Most of his relationships he worried about what his mother would think? Then he groaned again because if Stiles’ dad had half the influence Talia did, he was screwed. Although he was pretty sure even if Talia hated Stiles, it wouldn’t matter. He’d never felt like this for anyone before. Ever.

No one ever got him the way Stiles did.

Forcing himself to relax, he settled on a long-sleeved black shirt and his nicest pair of jeans. He popped by the mirror to adjust his hair, found a couple of stubborn paint smudges which wouldn’t come off, and let out a resigned sigh. He could hardly be faulted for a few specks of reds and greens, could he?

Realising how ridiculous he sounded, he padded with bare feet into the kitchen were Stiles was pulling out something in a deep pan. Derek leant against the wall to watch him work, something he adored. Stiles was an expert in the kitchen, which was great since Derek was rubbish at anything except dialling out, and he would appreciate having to work out a little less to make up for the take away calories.

It smelled like fish, whatever it was. That rich, heavy smell of something like trout. Stiles was leant over the pan with a fork and his fingers, testing to see if it was done. He popped a bit in his mouth and let out a happy noise, then tipped the chopped veg in the pan and put it back in to finish cooking.

When he was clear of hot things, Derek approached him and squeezed his shoulder. Stiles grinned and took Derek’s hand. ‘I’m all ready. What time is your dad coming?’

Stiles shrugged, ran his fingers over his braille watch, then signed, ‘About thirty minutes? I’ve got pie in the fridge, can you take it out?’

Derek walked over and saw a store-bought pie sitting on the middle shelf. It looked like some sort of chocolate crème, which was his favourite. He banged it down on the counter and went back to Stiles who was now stirring a sauce which had gone thick and syrupy from being at a low simmer.

Derek took his free hand and spelled since Stiles was turned away from him. ‘Smells good.’

Stiles tipped his hand from his chin down, then signed with one hand, ‘Thanks. You’ll love it.’

When Stiles was done for the moment, he turned to Derek, making it obvious he knew Derek was on edge. With a sigh, Derek took his hand. ‘Is he going to hate me?’

Stiles’ eyebrows went up, then he laughed. ‘Hate you? My dad might be harsh but no. He won’t hate you. He’ll love you cos I do.’

They both froze. Neither had really used love before. Not like that, and it was a mutual decision to let it go for the moment in favour of dealing with the whole parent dinner bit. Stiles was pink in the cheeks though, and Derek’s heart was hammering in his chest.

Derek busied himself with some wine to quell his nerves, and setting the table to keep himself distracted. Stiles finished up the food, and by the time they were ready to serve it, Derek heard the buzzer. He started, then ran to Stiles. ‘He’s here. You want to answer or… shall I?’

Stiles waved him off. ‘I’ve got it.’ Derek watched with heavy trepidation as Stiles crossed the room to the door. It took him a moment to locate the handle, then he gave it a shove to the side and grinned. The Sheriff stepped in, looking the same as he had when he was younger. Shorter than Stiles, thin and weedy. His hair was a bit more grey, and his face with more lines which was obviously from years in a stressful job.

Hanging back, he watched the pair greet each other. Obviously as Stiles had been Deaf since birth and low vision from a very early age, the Sheriff was used to communicating with his son. But Derek noticed that their signs weren’t just informal, some of them were entirely different. Like their own sort of family shorthand. Derek could read less than half of them, and most were signed directly onto Stiles’ palm instead of Stiles reading ASL.

It was interesting. Derek got it. His own family had their personal version of signs. When his siblings were little, when he was little, it was like a private Hale language. Of course as they got older and went into school it all became different, but Derek realised that a sighted, hearing father who obviously didn’t participate in the Deaf community much, wouldn’t have that experience of developing into proper ASL. Or even teen-slang. He wondered a moment if it was going to make the night a little more complicated, or less.

Stiles eventually finished his greeting with his dad, then led the way over with a wide gesture toward Derek. The Sheriff, at Stiles’ elbow, walked forward, giving Derek a good, hard stare with narrow, beady eyes.

Unsure how this was going to work, Derek hesitated. When Scott was around, he usually acted as interpreter although lately Stiles simply switched between the two of them when the three were conversing. Derek didn’t want to step on any toes, however, so he waited for Stiles’ cue.

Stiles held his hand out to confirm where Derek was, and Derek squeezed it before Stiles turned back to his dad and signed something Derek didn’t recognise. Then Stiles turned to Derek and signed, ‘This is my dad, John.’ He then took Derek’s hand, so Derek figured that was his cue.

“Hello,” he said and signed. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Oh sir, I like that.” Derek was careful to immediately jump into terp mode and John didn’t seem fussed by that at all. “He’s polite at least.”

Stiles huffed and signed something at his dad which made John laugh. “Fine yes. I’ll be nice.” But there was something in his eyes, Derek noticed as he interpreted. A cold suspicion. He got it. He saw his mother’s look every time someone outside their community came anywhere near her children. That look of a parent who’d seen their children taken advantage of. He knew if he appeared over eager to show John he adored Stiles, it would make matters worse, so he went along with the current mood: polite and friendly but distant.

The conversation after that was stilted during dinner. Derek was used to it, because although signing and eating was easy, tactile signing, interpreting, and trying to have a hot meal was less so. In between bites John asked Derek about the school, and in between bites Derek signed and spoke his answers.

It was when Stiles moved to serve up the pie that things got a little… weird. “So tell me, what are your intentions with my son?”

Derek blinked, not just in surprise at the question, but at being asked like Stiles wasn’t standing two feet away cutting a pie. “Um. Do you want to wait until he’s back at the table?”

John’s eyebrows rose. “Sorry?”

Derek cleared his throat and looked over at Stiles who had pie on the second plate now. “I’m not comfortable talking about him like he’s not here.”

With a frown, John said, “Yes well, there are a few things I’d like to ask you without my son present.”

“So… maybe tell him that?” Derek offered. Getting out of his chair, Derek walked to Stiles and squeezed his shoulder. When Stiles offered his hand, Derek signed, ‘Your dad wants to have a chat with me. I’m going to take him outside.’

Stiles frowned. ‘He did the thing again, didn’t he? Waiting til you couldn’t sign to ask a bunch of personal questions?’

Derek felt a little anger build up in his gut. This might be Stiles’ dad and it was obvious they loved each other, but he couldn’t abide by this behaviour. ‘Sorry. Yes. Do you mind?’

‘No. But I can’t promise there will be pie by the time you two get back.’

Derek smiled and kissed Stiles on the cheek. ‘Two minutes. Promise.’ Turning to John, he beckoned the Sheriff along to the lounge, past the couches, and out the terrace door. Shutting it, he turned to the Sheriff to explain. “You might do things a certain way with your son, and I accept that. But I’ve watched too many people bypass my family, acting like they’re not even there because they can’t hear what’s being said. Too many times hearing people will wait until a Deaf person’s back is turned to speak about them as though they’re not standing directly in front of them, and I won’t tolerate that.”

“Your mother,” John said slowly. “Talia.”

“My entire family,” Derek amended. 

John let out a breath, then asked, “So what are your intentions with my son.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up as he contemplated the question. Then said, “I have none.”

“Sorry?”

He huffed a little, trying to formulate his reply. “I have no intentions. The only thing I intend to do is take the relationship as it comes. I really like Stiles. More than I’ve ever liked anyone. He understands me in a way most people don’t. My intentions are for both of us to be happy. I have no plans. Not until the two of us decide on them. Together.”

There was a sudden softening of John’s expression, then he reached out and clasped Derek by the shoulder. “You’ll have to teach me proper sign sometimes. I know Stiles gets frustrated by the way we speak. It’s slow.”

Derek huffed a laugh and nodded. “Yeah sure. I can do that.”

*** 

The rest of the night passed with relative ease. John promised to cook next time, and tried out a few tactile signs to say goodbye Derek showed him, and Stiles glowed. When he was gone, Stiles turned to Derek and was enveloped in the strong, waiting arms. One of his hands trailed down to cup inside Derek’s fingers and it curved out letters.

‘You are amazing. Thank you.’

Derek smiled against Stiles’ cheek, reversing their hands, and he took a minute to just revel in the moment, being inside Stiles’ space. ‘Maybe we both are. But that was nice.’

Pulling back, Stiles kissed Derek on the tip of his nose and grinned. ‘I guess your family is next.’

Derek’s face fell a little as he thought about his mother. He didn’t care if she liked Stiles or not, but he didn’t want to subject his lover to the cold, passive-aggressive nature of his mother should she choose to not like him. He was all nerves and anxiety, but the warm arms coming round his middle right then chased them away. So Talia would be next. Not now. Not right away. But sometime soon.


	4. Birthday-Versary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit of angst in it, but the next one will be much fluffier, I promise. But we finally get to see when Talia meets Stiles! :) Hope you all enjoy xx

It so happened that their anniversary and Stiles’ birthday coincided within a few days of each other. They celebrated their togetherness on the day Stiles had his first class with Derek, because that was the moment, they both agreed, they’d really fallen in love. Love at first paint, Stiles liked to joke. Derek hadn’t known at the time it had been Stiles’ birthday just four days prior. It hadn’t come up til the following year when Derek was updating his calendar and he asked.

So now it was that time again. Anniversary-birthday sort of thing and he wanted to do something special. Besides, he had something in mind and maybe Stiles wouldn’t agree, but then again, maybe he would. So Derek had a key made and with Scott’s help found a person who could put a bit of Braille on it reading a D and an S. Because although it was just a key, it was a way of inviting Stiles into his life for good. As long as he wanted to be there.

Things had gone smoothly for a while now. Derek had several art showings, several school art showing where students were invited to present their work, and Stiles even agreed even if he was just a private student. His work got the most attention, mainly because someone had let slip he was a blind and Deaf student and one internet site even did a piece on him which infuriated Derek to no end because they’d just gone round to ask other people questions. No one seemed to want to actually speak to the artist.

Not that Derek hadn’t experienced this many times growing up in a Deaf family where people often spoke about his siblings and mother as though they weren’t sitting right goddamn there at the table. But either way, it was successful and Stiles of course kept his job at the archives but spent a lot of time creating a portfolio for himself.

The only thing they hadn’t approached was Stiles meeting Talia. And he’d brought it up a handful of times. Mostly Derek was lucky because she was out of the city a lot now that all her kids had grown up. She was working as a public education advocate for Deaf children who were placed in hearing schools. It took her all over the country so she wasn’t in Beacon Hills as often.

Derek spoke to her a bit over skype when she had time, their usual hellos. She hadn’t questions him on Stiles so he wondered if maybe she hadn’t seen the pieces on the school, or heard from Peter who was around and in everyone’s business. If anything his cousin Malia would have ratted him out for sure, but he hadn’t seen her face in ages.

It so happened he was planning out the party, emailing with Scott whilst Stiles was across the room working on a new painting when a figure appeared in the door. Head snapping up, Derek’s eyes widened when he saw his mother standing there.

He rose from his desk, walking her into the hallway quickly before Stiles had a chance to notice someone else had come in.

‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ he signed, his hands flying from his nerves. ‘I thought you were in New York.’

Derek was the spit of Talia, down to the dark brows tipped in a perpetual frown, thin lips, and black thick hair. She matched his frown, lifting one eyebrow as her manicured hands rose to address her son. ‘Do I need to text every time I want to visit my darling boy?’

Derek almost rolled his eyes, because she never just popped round like this. ‘Seriously. What are you doing here?’

‘A little birdie sent me the piece on the school and told me you had a quaint little thing going with one of the featured artists.’ She poked her head round the door to the classroom before Derek wrenched her away. ‘Is that him?’

‘Can we not do this now?’

Talia’s lips went thin. ‘You’re not going to introduce me?’

‘No.’ Derek’s fingers pinched down hard, and she looked absolutely surprised. ‘I don’t want you driving him away. I love him.’

‘You love him?’ Her head shook and she gave a breathy laugh through her nose. ‘Derek, you’ve barely known him a few months.’

‘A year,’ Derek said, and was unsurprised by the flicker of hurt across her face. ‘I didn’t tell you because you’ve come between everyone I’ve been with and I can’t take that risk.’

Her face went through a myriad of emotions before she locked on to a question. ‘Is it true what your sister says? He’s blind as well as Deaf?’

Derek let out a breath, his hand rubbing down his face before he answered her. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘How does that work? I mean honestly, Derek, it can’t be very…’

“Stop,” he said aloud, and she was so stunned by him going verbal to her that her hands stilled in the air. When he realised he had her attention, he went back to signing. ‘It’s perfect. What we have is no different than anyone else. No, wait. It is different, because it’s better. So please just go. I’ll bring him round one day, just… not today.’

She looked hurt, and determined, but nodded her agreement. ‘As long as you promise to make formal introductions. I’d like to meet this…’

‘S-T-I-L-E-S,’ he spelt before showing her his sign name. ‘And I promise.’

She was gone before Stiles noticed anything was off, and Derek felt like a perfect ass for doing exactly what he hated other people doing. He’d conducted an entire meeting without even letting Stiles know what was going on. It was wrong and he hated himself for it. But he swore he’d tell him. He’d tell Stiles about his mother and why he hadn’t made introductions. He’d tell Stiles exactly why he was afraid to introduce them.

*** 

Only… he didn’t get the chance. Derek was supposed to meet Stiles for lunch one afternoon, and taking the back way to the library, he went in through the side door and all-but screeched to a halt. Sitting in Stiles’ office in his usual chair was Talia.

She had a wicked grin on her face and one hand in Stiles’ palm. He watched as her fingers curved out his name, and Stiles lifted his head, his bespectacled eyes focusing toward the door. Derek felt his stomach sink.

‘Your mother invited us to dinner,’ Stiles signed as Derek came into the room. He took a seat next to Talia, forced to let his mother play terp which he hated. ‘I said yes.’

Derek’s eyes narrowed at her, his expression letting her know they’d have words later. ‘Fine. Sounds fine.’

Talia translated, then smiled at her son as she signed, ‘See you at seven.’

When she was gone, Derek collapsed in the chair she’d been in, and tried keep himself sorted. Dinner with his mother. Which meant at least two or three siblings, possibly Peter, probably Malia and whomever she was dating. It was going to be a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. He had Stiles’ birthday planned out for the weekend and it would be a miracle if they made it there intact.

Hand coming round his wrist, Derek looked up at Stiles who was wearing a concerned frown. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine,’ Derek said, his five hand tapping on his chest. He didn’t want to get into it right then. Maybe, he hoped against hope, Stiles wouldn’t fall prey to Talia’s tactics. His mother loved him, but she loved him in the way that she wanted to choose the person he spent the rest of his life with, and so far she hadn’t met anyone she felt was worthy.

Derek told Stiles he’d pick him up at half six so they could get there early. He figured maybe if they arrived early, they could leave early and avoid any drama. He took his time getting ready, preparing himself to tell his mother off. It was as he was standing in the mirror putting product in his hair he realised that for the first time, he was willing to risk his relationship with his family for a partner. He loved Stiles too damn much.

It put a bit more speed in his step and he arrived at Stiles’ fifteen minutes early. The Sheriff was there, greeting Derek with a handshake and let him in. He and John got on really well after that first dinner, and Derek frequented Stiles’ childhood home more than the loft some weeks.

“He’s just getting dressed,” John told him, beckoning him to the kitchen. He was in his uniform and freshly showered so Derek guessed he had a night shift. “You driving?”

Derek nodded. “My mother’s place is too far to walk.”

“Then I won’t offer you a beer. Water or juice?”

“Thanks, I’m good.” 

They made small talk for a bit, talked about Stiles’ portfolio and John said he’d be coming by at some point in the next week or two to take a look. He also confirmed the birthday party which Derek was hesitant about because although John liked him, he wasn’t sure how much he’d like Derek asking Stiles to think about moving in.

But he was going for it anyway.

By the time Stiles came down, the Sheriff was gone and Derek quickly walked up, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Stiles brightened when he realized who it was, and he put his arms round Derek’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. “Hi,” he whispered. The sound of his voice always sent pleasant shivers through Derek’s body, and he held Stiles tighter as he grabbed for his hand.

‘Can we talk a minute before we leave?’

Stiles pulled back, his face drawn. ‘You okay?’

Derek pulled him to the couch and they sat, and he took a few seconds before launching into the story. He told him about the other day when his mother had been at the school. ‘I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry. I feel like a complete tit and… forgive me?’

Stiles looked hurt, but softened after a minute. ‘What is it about your mother that gets you so upset?’

Derek’s hand twitched in Stiles’, trying to come up with exactly what it was. ‘She… she and I have a complicated relationship. She likes to control things. It’s important that she approve of the people I date. And she’s driven away more than one. And I let her.’

Stiles’ face twitched a little, then he smiled. ‘She seemed to like me. And everyone likes me.’

Derek didn’t have the heart to tell Stiles his mother didn’t like anyone. Maybe if they were just friends it would be different. Instead he said, ‘I don’t care what she thinks. I love you and I’m happy.’

Stiles made a happy noise in the back of his throat. His hands trailed up Derek’s arms, wrapping round his shoulders, and pulled him in for a kiss. They spent that bit of extra time making out like a couple of high school kids before it was time to go.

A bit red-faced and mussed hair, Derek figured it didn’t matter and they went out to the car. The drive was painfully short, and his anxiety had hit full volume and he was trying to control the trembling in his fingers as he walked round to Stiles’ side of the car.

Being that it was a new place, Stiles wore his strongest pair of glasses and kept his cane hooked round his arm as he had one hand over Derek’s, attentive for directions. Derek was careful to spell everything out and take it slow. The Hale House was in the middle of the woods, so the ground was uneven and difficult from the driveway to the front door.

Inside was better. Although a bit cluttered from his siblings running amok, Derek gave Stiles the basic layout and Stiles seemed far more at ease than Derek felt. Inside it was loud, as usual. Cora was there, first to greet them, and it was clear Talia had given everyone etiquette lessons because Cora immediately introduced herself by spelling her name into Stiles’ palm.

Stiles, for his part, looked more than pleased, and Derek felt his heart tug more because he knew part of Talia’s strategy was to make the person feel welcome and comfortable so when she told them why it wouldn’t work between them and Derek, they would leave and still think she had their best interest at heart.

Laura was there next, saying hello the same way, and his brother Nick who apparently was visiting from University. Derek took Stiles into the kitchen where everyone was congregating and he was pleased to see Peter wasn’t there, and it was just going to be the six of them.

To Talia’s credit, things went smoothly. Laura was better than her other siblings at tactile signing, so they took turns interpreting for Stiles who was enjoying the conversation. They all appeared to enjoy his particular brand of signing as well, and even Cora echoed Derek’s sentiments when he’d first met Stiles—it was like an accent.

Dinner was served and enjoyed, and Derek started to wonder if things were actually not at all what he thought. Talia was in the living room with Stiles making polite conversation about his work in the archives, Stiles had a huge grin on his face, and Cora was bugging Derek to come look at pictures of her now boyfriend, so he obliged. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Stiles’ face and signed into his hand, ‘Back in five minutes. Going upstairs with Cora.’

Stiles kissed him back, then returned to his conversation with Talia who also seemed at ease.

When they got upstairs, Cora immediately shut her door and began to speak in a rush. “She’s freaked out because you’re with a guy.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Nodding, Cora started to pace, her hands flying and she used a combination of speech and sign. “She was going on and on about it earlier. She said that she knew you were experimenting when you were younger but she said she thought it was a phase.”

Derek ran his hands back through his hair. ‘So why all this to-do with dinner?’

Cora shook her head. “I don’t know. But you know how she is.”

Derek’s face went red-hot and his fingers punctuated the sentence he said aloud. “If she does anything to jeopardise what I have with him, I will never speak to her again. Ever.”

With that, Derek started downstairs. Stiles and Talia weren’t in the living room anymore. Talia was in the kitchen and when Derek asked where he was, she casually nodded to the back door. Derek immediately went out to find Stiles leaning against the railing lining their back porch. When he touched Stiles, his boyfriend pulled away.

‘Don’t.’

Derek felt his heart drop into his stomach and his face went numb. ‘Stiles,’ he signed, not letting Stiles pull away. ‘What the hell happened?’

Turning, Stiles’ eyes were shining with tears. ‘You didn’t tell me you were straight.’

Derek felt rage bubble up, and he grabbed Stiles’ hands, making sure both of them were reading the signs clearly. ‘I am not straight. Yes, I’ve been with women, but…’

‘Your mother said you want to get married and have children. Said it’s the most important thing to you. Biological children.’

Derek felt his jaw clenching so hard his head began to ache, and he pressed his hands under Stiles’. ‘No.’ He put one of Stiles’ hands against his cheek and shook his head as he signed into the other one. ‘No. I don’t care if I have children and if WE choose to have them, I don’t care how we get them. She…’ He let his hand trail off for a second. ‘I love you. And none of what she said is true.’ After a second, he remembered he still had the key and realised it couldn’t wait for the party any longer. He pulled it out of his pocket and put it in Stiles’ palm.

Running his fingers over it, his finger paused over the braille, and his eyes wide behind the glasses, tried to focus on Derek’s face. ‘What is this?’

‘A key,’ Derek said, pulling Stiles close. ‘To my loft. Our loft, if you want. I mean… I thought… if you were interested. You might want to move in with me. Some day.’

Stiles seemed stunned. He just stood there, one hand over Derek’s, the other holding the key as his thumb ran over the bumps spelling out D and S. His chin trembled, then he leant in and kissed Derek hard. “I believed her,” he whispered against Derek’s mouth. “I thought… I thought...”

Derek took Stiles’ hands, pushing him back just a little. ‘I know what you thought. She does this. That’s why I was so afraid. I’m so sorry. I love you and I don’t care if I never see her again.’

Stiles nodded and then took a breath. ‘Can we go?’

‘Just let me do one thing.’ At Stiles’ request, Derek left him out on the porch whilst he went inside. 

Talia was still in the kitchen and she looked him up and down, a small frown on her mouth. ‘Something wrong?’

“Yes,” Derek said, and she blinked in surprise, again shocked by his use of verbal English. He signed as he spoke, but he decided to use both his languages to get the message across. “I love him. I’m sorry you’re not happy he’s not a woman. I’m sorry I couldn’t find a cute little Deaf girl and settle down. You probably won’t get grandkids from me. But I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. I’ve asked him to move in with me, and if my happiness matters to you at all, you will never,” he paused to sign never without speaking, “ever do something like this again.”

And then he left. He didn’t let her argue her side of things, he didn’t let her respond or come up with any comebacks. He took Stiles on his arm and they left. At Stiles’ request, they went back to Derek’s loft and immediately headed for bed.

Stiles asked to be taken, to be claimed, and Derek was more than happy to oblige. Stiles was face down, one of Derek’s hands pinning Stiles’ wrists above his head, the other doing wicked things to his balls and weeping dick. He was inside Stiles, pressing hard and furious with a rhythm only Stiles’ bucking hips could match.

They both came at nearly the same time, and collapsed down into the comfortable blankets. As Derek cleaned up the small mess and got them nestled against the pillows, Stiles turned to Derek, putting one hand on his cheek and the other signed into his palm. ‘I want to live with you. I want to wake up to you every day. I love you.’

Derek almost wept, but it took a lot to bring him to tears so instead he just kissed Stiles soundly and went to sleep knowing that before long, this would be his every night.

*** 

The birthday party went by without a hitch. Talia didn’t show up, but when it was over and Derek was seeing everyone out, he found a small parcel in his post box next to the door. It was hand delivered by lack of post markings, and Derek took it inside.

With careful fingers, he ripped the package open and read the enclosed note.

‘I saw this in the paper the other day. It’s a touring art exhibit and it’s coming to the University so I bought you and Stiles tickets. Consider it a housewarming gift, though I promise to get you two something for the loft as soon as I’m back in California. Your happiness means the world to me, Derek, and if Stiles brings that to you, then his happiness matters to me as well. I love you always.’

Derek felt something rising in his chest and he wasn’t sure what it was until he felt his cheeks and tears had spilt. Going through the pamphlets, Derek read everything over. It was an art exhibit which started in Europe and was now travelling round. The people in charge had taken the world’s most famous paintings, and with a new technique, made them tactile. It was an important gift, one of acceptance. Talia had given Stiles the gift of being able to “see” pieces of art that he never would have had the chance to, and Derek felt like at the moment, all was right with the world.


	5. Start A Band

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit crap, I think, but it's late. I'm distracted by my Phil/Hawkeye ship right now so I might stick to that until it's out of my system. Also anyone ever notice how much the actor who plays Grant Ward on SHIELD could totally be a Hale brother. All I can think of is how much he looks like Tyler Hoechlin. Also side-note I had a guitar called Cocopuff when I was a teenager. Lame, I know. xx

He stared at Stiles who was holding the guitar case with one hand, the other stretched out in front of him expectantly. Derek didn’t make a habit of making Stiles wait for acknowledgement, he was merely a little surprised that Stiles had found the damn guitar. He swore when Isaac moved out he’d taken it with him.

‘I used to play,’ Derek eventually signed, going down to his knees so he could be on Stiles’ level. ‘Ages ago.’

Stiles’ face broke out into a wide smile and he ripped his hands away, eagerly flitting around for the clasps. He threw the case wide open and his fingers carefully brushed across the strings. It let out an ugly, muted sound. Derek couldn’t remember the last time he touched it, let alone tuned it, but it gave him a funny rush to look at it.

He picked up the guitar at school after he and his first girlfriend had split. One of his friends told him he had an ear for it, and he always assumed his mother would be upset but when she learnt about him picking up the class, she immediately drove him down to the music shop so he could pick out his very own. His first guitar had been cherry wood coloured and he called her Isobel.

This one was three guitars later, called Cocopuff which he’d come up with one night when he and Isaac had been drinking too much and they both thought it was hilarious. The next day he regretted it, but he couldn’t change her name and eventually it became an inside joke.

‘Play something,’ Stiles insisted, reaching into the case to lift the guitar up. ‘For me?’

Derek sighed and took the guitar from him. He strummed along the strings, twisting the pegs in a vain attempt to put it back in tune. It wasn’t as horrible as he suspected, but he knew she would need to get some life back into her before she sounded good again.

Rising from the floor, Stiles went with him, taking his elbow as they moved to the bed. With a happy hum, Stiles jumped on the covers as Derek lowered himself to the edge and mucked about until he was satisfied. He gave it a quick strum, ran through a few chords, did some fingerpicking, and then turned to Stiles who had his hand out.

‘What do you like?’

‘Oh anything. I won’t be able to pick out individual notes, so something with a nice melody.’

Derek gnawed on his lip, then pushed Stiles’ hand down to the base of the guitar and began to play one of his favourite Doors songs. “People are strange, when you’re a stranger, faces look ugly, when you’re alone…”

It had been a long time since Derek had done any singing, and he was halfway glad his current partner couldn’t really hear him because he was only barely on key. Except Stiles noticed and put his hand immediately against the side of Derek’s neck.

“More,” he commanded.

Derek grinned and shook his head, but kept going. The notes were rusty, but it was all coming back to him now. “When you’re strange, faces look out in the rain, when you’re strange. No one remembers your name, when you’re strange, when you’re……. strange.”

He began to strum in earnest, his body rocking along with the melody and Stiles’ grin got wider and wider. When it was over, Stiles threw himself back, and Derek carefully set Cocopuff to the side before joining his now live-in boyfriend on the bed. They turned toward each other to better sign.

‘Lyrics?’

‘The Doors,’ and then Derek signed a bit, but Stiles knew that song already.

‘Good choice. Good taste.’

Derek laughed. ‘Yeah you would think so. You ARE strange.’

‘But you love it.’ Stiles gave a happy hum and shifted so his back was to Derek’s front. Derek put his arm round Stiles and they switched from sign to spelling. ‘First the Mona Lisa,’ he said, referring to the art exhibit, ‘and now the Doors.’

The art exhibit had been a gift from Talia. A way of apology, though she hadn’t invited them over again, and Derek had yet to welcome her into his newly shared space with Stiles. He was still hurt. Stiles was still hurt. But they were recovering.

The art exhibit had been something to behold for sure. With Stiles’ blossoming artistic abilities, being able to show him the greats the way that most blind people didn’t get to see, it was something special. They were there for hours and Stiles had his hands on absolutely everything, including Derek at one point when they stopped to use the loo. It didn’t get too far, but they both had that little rush of, what if we get caught.

Derek spent most of the time describing what Stiles couldn’t see or touch. At one point he, too, decided to close his eyes and experience the art the way Stiles did. It was a new experience. He still feared the idea of losing his sight. He felt that would put an end to everything he held dear, but then he looked over and saw Stiles carefully trailing his fingers over the Last Supper and the grin on his face told Derek that it probably would be okay.

Stiles’ careful fingers trailing up and down his arm brought Derek back to the present, and he pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles’ head. It was so domestic. Tooth-rotting fluff is what Scott called it, but Derek didn’t care. He was happy. He could say that and mean it in the most genuine way possible. He was happy.

Stiles turned to kiss him and signed against his palm, ‘You’re going to have to teach me some of that next. The guitar. And after that, the drums.’

Derek groaned, but Stiles kissed it away, and when he pulled back he signed, ‘Well we did conquer the art world. I guess all that’s left is to start a band.’

Stiles grinned. ‘Yeah. But only if I get to be lead singer.’


	6. Chicken Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by real life events. Anyone else just horribly poorly this spring? My mum actually does have this chicken soup recipe that cures everything, I swear to god. This chapter is not beta'd or american-picked so all errors are my own. Also I went back to look over some of my fics and it looks like my word programme is swapping the word aids for aides and I didn't even notice. What is that?!
> 
> Also I got a question and wanted to note a couple of things: Sign Language-- now I'm speaking for BSL not ASL but I'm sure it's the same-- is an extremely visual language. A lot of what you use in English, (connective text) they don't even bother with. Like you wouldn't sign the word 'really' if you wanted to say 'really' tired. You'd just exaggerate the sign tired. However with tactile that is a LOT harder to accomplish, so a lot of those adjective words you'd use with signs and expression are lost. So in tactile you can use the sign for really, or spell it. Like signs which require you to shake your head no to negate the word, instead you'd sign 'not' or 'don't' or have the person feel your head shake before the sign. 
> 
> Now, normally with a person who has low vision or is blind, it's incredibly rude to take their hands and shove them on things. Like I see in a lot of fics people grabbing blind people's hands and putting them on their mouth to "see" the smile. Typically with blind or low vision, you can hear the smile in their voice and take it from context. Similarly a D/deaf person wouldn't need to feel a laugh because they can see it and discern from context. However with a deafblind person, those cues are often very necessary. If you're laughing, you can sign laughing, or you can put their hand on your throat/chest so they can feel the laugh. As I've mentioned, my partner is deafblind. With more vision than hearing, but a lot of Derek and Stiles is taken from our communication at home. So while things might seem rude to the blind community or Deaf community in this fic, it's perfectly acceptable in the deafblind community. I hope that makes sense. Hah. Head's a bit wonky today.

Things were all well and good until Stiles woke up with a fever. It was the kind so high he was shivering and shaking, and the heat of it roused Derek from his own sleep. Fumbling for the lamp, he switched it on and saw Stiles clutching the blankets high to his chin, his face pallid and peaky.

Reaching over, Derek pressed the inside of his wrist to Stiles’ forehead and hissed. “Fuck,” he said aloud, then signed into his hand, ‘Fever.’

Stiles nodded, his jaw chattering. Derek ran to the medicine cabinet to find something to reduce the fever, shoving a couple pills into Stiles’ mouth and pressing a cup of water to his lips. Stiles took it down, and half an hour later the fever broke enough for him to sleep more. 

It was the flu. After two days of rapidly rising temps, Derek forced Stiles to go in to see the doctor who, with Derek interpreting, said, “It’s the flu. All you can do is control the symptoms and get a lot of rest and a lot of fluids.”

Wrapped in Derek’s biggest hoodie, Stiles nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he signed, and let Derek take him back out to the car.

They’d been together several months now and none of them poorly until this horrible flu season hit. As Derek wrapped Stiles up in a blanket on the couch, he tried to think back to when he was younger. His mother had always done something to make him feel better, but it had been so long he had trouble remembering.

Soup, he thought after a few minutes. And something else. A drink? And a sweet?

Frustrated, Derek leant over and took Stiles hand to sign, ‘I’m going to get more supplies. You okay?’

Stiles nodded, then let out a huge yawn before he waved Derek away.

He made the ten minute drive to his mother’s house in six, pulling up in the driveway with a huge billow of dust, and he switched the car off, making a rapid entrance inside. No one was home it seemed. Someone had left music on upstairs, but inspecting the rooms, none of his siblings were around and his mom’s car wasn’t parked outside.

With a frustrated growl, he began to scour the kitchen shelves for the soup recipe. It was chicken base, he knew that much, but she threw in herbs and other things in there, natural remedies to kill the ick and accelerate the healing process. If only he’d bothered to pay attention.

He was half-way through a second shelf when he heard the front door open, and a moment later his mother walked into the kitchen, her laptop hanging from her arm.

‘What are you doing?’

Derek ran a frustrated hand through his hair before turning to her to sign. ‘Stiles is poorly. Flu. I came here to find that soup recipe you used to make me.’

Talia’s face went hard, then fell and she nodded. ‘That bad?’

Derek nodded. ‘Never seen him this bad.’

She held up a finger, then left the room for a few minutes, returning with three sheets of computer paper. In her neat writing, she’d scribbled out all the ingredients for the soup, plus two other sheets of a schedule of medication and, it looked like, flat rootbeer warmed in a pot.

‘This would get you well in a matter of days,’ she signed with her sharp fingers as Derek took the pages.

Derek looked over the ingredients list and groaned. He’d have to drive up to the Farmer’s Market for most of this stuff, and that was thirty minutes there and thirty back. ‘I don’t have time to head out of town,’ he signed, folding the papers and shoving them into his pocket. ‘But I can do the rootbeer and meds. He’ll just have to make do with tinned soup.’

Talia pulled a face, but she gave a half-shrug as Derek grabbed his keys, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then left. He popped by the pharmacy for tissue with lotion in them, more fever reducer, a steam humidifier, and a few bottles of rootbeer.

He got back to the loft to find Stiles in the middle of another terrible fever and immediately went to work. He moved his boyfriend back to the bedroom, then served him the crappy, condensed soup, the rootbeer, and more pills.

Stiles took down a little bit of each, then went back under the covers. Derek used a wet hand towel on his forehead, rubbing it gently back and forth until Stiles fell back asleep.

About an hour later, Derek saw the lights flashing, and the low sound of the buzzer, and quietly removed himself from the bed. Padding along to the door, he threw it open and was completely surprised to see his mother there with two large paper sacks full of… food, it looked like.

‘What are you doing here?’

Hands full, she couldn’t answer til she came in and set everything down. ‘I know you’d never make it right, so I decided since I have the afternoon off, I’d come by and make a pot.’

It was a bit of a backhanded favour, the insult stinging a little, but who was he to argue. ‘Thanks.’

Talia cocked her head to the side, then pressed the inside of her wrist to Derek’s forehead. ‘No symptoms?’

‘I’ve had my vaccine.’

Talia nodded in approval than shoo’d him away. ‘Go. Take your shirt off and his shirt off and do skin-to-skin contact. It reduces fevers. And it’s comforting.’

Derek had no idea how to process Talia’s advice. Not just because he’d never heard of it before, but his mother, who had tried to break up his relationship because she didn’t want Derek to be gay, was now telling him to take his clothes off and cuddle his boyfriend.

But who was he to argue.

He shut the bedroom door, stripped down to his boxers, and climbed in the bed. Stiles only protested a little, but he was burning up and Derek managed to get his shirt off, pulling him close, so Stiles’ back was to his front. He was like an oven and it was uncomfortable for a while, but forty minutes later, Stiles broke into a huge sweat and his temp went down.

He let out a small sigh and nuzzled back against Derek who closed his own eyes and without realising it, fell to sleep.

*** 

He woke a few hours later and Stiles was still out, and the entire loft smelled fragrant and spiced. He extracted himself from the bed, trying not to wake his sleeping boyfriend, and went into the kitchen. The soup was on the stove, covered and simmering at a low temp. Talia was gone, but there was a note on the fridge.

‘Ready whenever you are. Serve piping hot. Love you. Xx’

Derek pulled the lid off and was immediately transported back to his childhood. It was perfect. He pulled out two huge cappuccino mugs and filled them both with soup—mostly broth with a bit of meat and veg, and placed them on a tray. He noticed a loaf of thick bread sliced—something else Talia always served, and he added a few of that to a plate and carried it back to the bedroom.

Setting the tray on the table, he climbed onto the bed and rubbed Stiles’ shoulders and neck til his lover came to. Stiles let out a deep groan, his face pulled back into a grimace and Derek was sure Stiles’ entire body was probably aching.

‘Soup,’ Derek spelt into his hand.

Stiles frowned, rubbing his face with his open hand. ‘You made soup?’

Derek signed, ‘No. My mom came by and made some.’

Stiles let out a deep-chested cough, grimaced, and sat up. ‘Poison?’

Derek pressed Stiles’ hand to his throat as he laughed, then signed, ‘No. I promise. It’s a cure-all. Trust me.’

He moved the tray to the bed, and put Stiles’ hands round the mug. It was hot enough to be soothing to the throat, but not painfully so, and the pair of them sipped their broth in silence. They nibbled on the bread, and after a while Stiles got sleepy again so Derek took the tray and tucked him back in to the covers.

He got a bit of work done, put the pot of soup in the fridge, then joined his lover to sleep for the rest of the night.

*** 

Morning arrived, and when Derek cracked open an eye, he saw Stiles sitting up looking much better. There was colour to his cheeks again, and though he was still sniffling, it was clear his fever was gone. He was using his tablet and braille refresher, his fingers travelling along the bumps as he read whatever book was queued.

Derek rolled over and snaked his arm round Stiles’ waist. Stiles grinned down at him, his hand ghosting along the side of Derek’s face as he set the tablet aside. ‘Morning.’

Derek hummed against Stiles’ hand, then took it. ‘Morning. You look better.’

‘Feel better. You were right. That soup is wonderful. I’ll have to tell your mom thanks.’

Derek smiled then leant up to kiss Stiles before he got up for a shower. He had classes that day, as much as he wanted to stay in and take care of Stiles, but with the fever gone he didn’t worry so much. He left Stiles with heating instructions on the broth, a ration of meds in case he needed them, and a firm kiss with an ‘I love you’ sign pressed to his palm.

The day went by at a crawling pace. It was times like this Derek hated he couldn’t call or text to check up on Stiles. He sent an email that went unanswered, but that wasn’t unusual. Stiles rarely bothered to check his account during the day. He struggled with the desire to at least sent Scott over, but his apprentice was just as busy as he was with the added classes, and by the end of the day, Derek was just ready to be at home.

He let Scott take office hours, packed his things, and raced across the street. As he approached the door, he felt a sort of thrumming, like stereo bass, and he went in. There was no music, but as he headed down the corridor, he could see Stiles in the art studio. He was painting, massive headphones clamped round his ears covering half the sides of his head, and he was bouncing along to whatever was playing.

He was splatter-painting on a base he’d done the week before he got sick, and he looked a lot better. Derek leant on the doorframe, watching him for a bit. Stiles was an untrained artist. He’d grown up bookish and in a world where people didn’t understand what he was capable of. He’d been defined by what he lacked. People always assumed someone with low vision wouldn’t appreciate art. That someone with only a small percentage of hearing wouldn’t appreciate music.

Here he was immersed in both, dancing and contrasting bright colours to the rich black of the canvas. He had a bit smeared on his arms and cheeks, and Derek loved it. It sent warm shivers down his spine, and he fought back the urge to rush over and kiss Stiles.

Instead he reached over and flipped the lights on and off a few times. Stiles turned with a grin, his paint covered hand outstretched for Derek.

‘Looking good,’ Derek signed as Stiles sidled up to him and pressed a kiss to the side of his face.

‘Yeah?’ Stiles scratched the back of his head, his eyes wide behind his thick-framed specs. He stared at his canvas for a few minutes, then sighed. ‘I woke up feeling refreshed. Wanted to do something.’

Derek caressed the sides of Stiles’ face for a second, kissed him, then took his hands to sign, ‘I need a shower. Then I’ll cook.’

Stiles nodded, then switched his music back on and went back to work.

Derek took his time under the water, scrubbing away the long day. He came out feeling much better, donning a black tee and some sweats, and he glanced at Stiles still working as he passed the studio, making his way to the kitchen. 

They had the soup, but he wanted something more hearty, so he whipped up some pasta and a white sauce. As he was digging round the fridge for some parm, he noticed a small glass pan in the back with a cover on it. Frowning, he pulled it out and popped the top off. On the inside was a sticky note, hovering just above some white fresh whipped cream with chocolate bits sprinkled on top.

‘For when he’s feeling better. I used to make it for you. Mom x’

Derek dipped one finger into the centre, licked it, and his eyes went wide. His mother did used to make it. It was this sort of chocolate crème with a cookie crumble crust and whipped cream on top. He and his siblings were always treated when they were poorly. It made the suffering that much easier to manage.

Derek put it on the counter to defrost a bit whilst he finished dinner.

He took two plates into the studio, the pair of them snuggling down on their couch and they ate with their plates in their laps. Stiles was his old self, making jokes, his snark and sass back to full force. It was nice, and Derek realised a moment just how worried he’d been. It was irrational—it’s not like anything would happen over a silly flu, but it struck him just how much he hated seeing Stiles suffering.

‘I have a surprise,’ Derek signed into one of Stiles’ hands.

Stiles rubbed his hands together eagerly as Derek got up and went to the kitchen for the sweet. He cut a huge slice, taking only one spoon, and he came back to the room. Stiles was waiting, his knee crooked up to his chest, one arm around it. He had his head cocked to the side, and he grinned when he saw the blurry image of Derek appear in the doorway.

He made grabby hands, but Derek smacked him away, sitting down and holding the plate just out of reach. He used one hand to sign, ‘This is a very special sweet. Something else my mother made. She used to make it for us when we were poorly as kids.’

Stiles’ expression shifted, and he leant back. ‘Is this her way of saying sorry?’

Derek laughed a little and put Stiles’ hand on his shoulder as he shrugged. Then he signed, ‘I suppose we can ask her.’

Then, taking the spoon, he dipped it into the sweet and gave it to Stiles. The younger man sniffed at it, then took a hesitant lick. After a second, his eyes went wide and he made a happy noise in the back of his throat as he gulped down the entire bite. “Oh Em Gee,” he said aloud.

Derek laughed louder, and they spent the next few minutes sharing bites and kisses. When the plate was all-but licked clean, Derek took Stiles by the waist, pulling him over. They kissed hard, their mouths full of the taste of sugar and chocolate, and they both groaned as their bodies collided.

It was a strange contrast, going from skin-to-skin in Derek’s attempt to make Stiles well, to this, hot skin sweating and flushed and desperate for a more intimate touch. But he liked it. It was wonderful and domestic and it made him feel things he never thought he’d be capable of.

They took it to the bedroom, the sheets now cool as they’d been abandoned all day. Derek made a mental note to change and wash them, but for now all that mattered was Stiles leaning over his body, kissing up and down his chest. Stiles’ talented fingers drove deep into the sweats, past the boxers to where he was hard and wanting.

Stiles stroked him up and down, the perfect rhythm as their mouths pressed, open and closed, tongues darting out and tasting each other.

It wasn’t long til Stiles was begging for more, and though Derek took it slow so he wouldn’t tire his newly recovered lover out, he still had him flat on his belly, begging with his voice and fingers for Derek to go deeper and harder and more god please more.

It was over quickly, more quickly than usual, but they’d had a trying week and they’d missed this kind of contact. Nuzzled together now, a bit sticky, a bit sweaty, and more than a bit happy, Stiles slipped his palm into Derek’s to spell, ‘I should make your mother cookies. I have an old recipe. Death by Chocolate. From my mom.’

Derek kissed him and thought if bridges were going to be mended, it might as well be over chocolate. They flipped hand positions and Derek said, ‘Yeah. I think that would be great.’


End file.
